


Inborn

by Fridoline



Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 10 Minute Writing Prompt, Character Study, Family Issues, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fridoline/pseuds/Fridoline
Summary: Weekly 10 minutes daily writing prompt: hairWorick had had a couple of different experiences with touch, especially related to his hair.
Relationships: Worick Arcangelo & Nicolas Brown, Worick Arcangelo/Nicolas Brown
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Inborn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_r_b_u_s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_r_b_u_s/gifts).



There was a knife at his throat, a hand buried in his hair, violently pulling his head back to expose his neck. Worick swallowed and instantly felt the blade digging into his skin as his adam's apple bobbed up and down with the action. The man holding him in his clutches whispered threats into his ear, his breath an uncomfortable warmth wafting over his neck, more unwelcome than the knife pressed to his skin. Worick smiled, a little unhinged and savage.

Those deft fingers threaded in his hair, keeping him compliant, nails digging into his scalp, were a familiar sensation, stirring old memories and pulling them out of their perfect preserve.

Clarisse, his step-mother, had had fair hair aswell, a different shade of blonde than Worick's though. Not as bright, a bit more honey-sweetened with a golden glow to it. Michel, his step-brother, had been a perfect mixture of his parents, right smack in the middle between dark blond and light brown.

Domenico, their esteemed father, had been a brunette not too dissimilar in tone to a certain Gaston Brown who'd joined his service one day.

Worick had only known the feeling of rough brushing of his hair from the maids, who hadn't cared when the comb got stuck in a knot of hair, pulling the teeth of the tool through any tangles no matter the pain. Just telling him to stand his man when he had dared to wince or make any sounds of dismay. And of course there had been the feeling of his father's hands, not in gentle caressing, no, only in violence. Pulling his hair to make him stand up after he had beaten him to a pulp just to throw him against the next wall or into the nearest corner as he proclaimed his disgust, never failing to remind Worick that he looked just like his whore of a mother with his blue eyes and platinum blond hair.

There had never been any gentle touches until one day Worick had fallen asleep at the table in his room with his face buried in his arms, waiting for the apathetic deaf boy to finish his writing exercise. He had been so slow, Worick had just nodded off, but then a weird sensation hat woken him up. A small tugging at his hair, hardly noticable if not for the slight tickling the movement had provoked. It had been gentle and hesitant and when Worick had lifted his head to stare at Nicolas in wonder, the other boy had blinked in puzzlement at his own fingertips.

After the Arcangelo massacre and their escape from the mansion, Worick had had a few feverish days in the clinic of - back then still - Theo's mother. After she had taken care of the medical treatment to the boys and especially Worick's eye, she sometimes had kept sitting a little longer at his bedside to gently card through his hair in an unfamiliar motherly way, strands often wet and grimy from fever sweat that had never seemed to bother her. He remembered that sometimes hands a lot tinier than hers had taken over in a clumsy fashion, when she had had to leave his bedside to attend to other patients or just get back to work.

Starting his gigolo career in Ergastulum had been easy with his youthful appearance even despite the disfigurement of his face, or maybe the pity had played into it as well. But the older he'd become the more Worick had been losing his childlike round and soft features. He had grown taller, gotten some muscles while still staying slender but with a broader back and wider shoulders. He had grown into a man. Puberty had given him more than just some pubic hair, he had had to get accustomed to more body hair in general, his chest, his legs, arms, the back of his hands even. Just his facial scruff had developed a bit on the weaker side.

Worick had started growing his hair out as soon as those changes slowly started happening, turning him from a child to a man. Maybe it had been an unconscious decision or maybe it had been more conscious. His customers liked to play with his hair, told him he looked ruggedly handsome with it that long. He kept collecting more varied experiences related to touch with it. In his line of work anything from gentle over playful to rough and hurtful was on the table.

He could easily tie his hair up into a ponytail now, only ever cutting the tips when necessary but otherwise still letting it grow, and when he let it down it flowed over his shoulders right down to about his shoulder blades at the back of his head. In the front the length varied a bit but was generally something of a long fringe framing his features, maybe softening the strong jaw that was so much like his father's, countering those bastard's feature in his own appreance with his mother's gentleness that he only assumed, hoped, she must have had, never having met her himself and surely not ever having heard anything nice about her from his father.

Worick blinked, his mind coming full circle in his train of thoughts, and returned to the here and now, his neck still straining, knife licking his skin, cutting it shallowly and letting a few drops of blood escape and tickle down his neck. His captor was mumbling something to himself, sounding nervous and impatient as if things weren't quite going to plan. Then he yelled at his companion to go check in on the others from their little gang or whatever they were, since he evidently had his hands full with Worick.

A dark smudge flickered across the sky. Worick's eye - following that movement too late - only saw the blue of the heaven and some fluffy white clouds just slowly passing by.

Then there was a scream and a gurgle. Worick's captor was only able to make a half-surprised sound before his grip slackened and the knife fell from his throat.

Worick jumped a step ahead and turned around to find Nicolas flicking the blood off his sword with a frown. Normally, Worick would stretch his neck with some theatric whining about Nic taking his time and causing a kink in his back with that uncomfortable posture he had to keep all this time, but he just kept looking at Nic, assessing him.

Nicolas was now an adult as well, had been for a while, the roundness of his face exchanged for some sharp angles and a cutting jaw. His Asian genes masked a lot of the aging past him reaching the legal age, but they couldn't hide the fact that he wasn't a child anymore either. Worick noticed that Nic's hair hadn't changed too dramatically compared to their younger selves. Sure, it wasn't as unruly anymore, a bit shorter in general, still a few strands falling into his face but the nape of his neck was cut very short, the usual military cut. Like Nic's father had been wearing, too.

Nic raised an eyebrow, throwing Worick a questioning look, his way of asking if everything was alright with his friend. Worick just shrugged, shook his head and apologized with a crooked smile. He didn't clarify for what, the mess he had gotten himself in or those last thoughts of his, even if Nic would never be aware of the latter.

Worick combed his fingers through his hair, straightening out the strands, pulling them back and, fishing a hair tie out of his pocket, tied them up into a neat ponytail, leaving out some of the longer strands falling in front of his ear.

There was no telling how much, if at all, they took after their mothers, but Worick was sure that at maximum they might just share some physical similarities with their sires.

Straightening up, Worick jumped over the body of his ex-captor to join Nic's side, hanging an arm around his shoulder he grinned broadly.

"Thanks for showing up right on time!" Worick ruffled Nic's short hair affectionately, laughing when the other grumbled disgruntledly and tried to duck away from him.


End file.
